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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25135687">doctor's orders</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/quill_and_parchment/pseuds/quill_and_parchment'>quill_and_parchment</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>A Sense of Adventure [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Arcana (Visual Novel)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Asra is mentioned in passing, Double Life, F/M, Gen, Julian being a doctor for once, Julian's clinic, Platonic Female/Male Relationships, Pre-Red Plague (The Arcana), Workplace Relationship, all my most fun ideas come to me at random i swear, also mostly the easiest, just a random drabble</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 10:55:23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>553</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25135687</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/quill_and_parchment/pseuds/quill_and_parchment</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>"Nothing abnormal about you at all, in fact."</p><p>Well, she wouldn't call a magician at a doctor's clinic normal.</p><p>Esme - or is it Thora? - becomes Julian's apprentice.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Apprentice/Julian Devorak, Julian Devorak/Original Female Character(s)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>A Sense of Adventure [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1820728</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>doctor's orders</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The doctor’s clinic is small, a narrow-looking building tucked into a crowded part of the South End. The name plate by the bell is humble: “Dr. Julian Devorak”, on brass. She’s already knocked, without success.</p><p>Thora reaches out and pulls the bellrope, shifts her weight from heels to toes and back again. The shop is closed, Asra is gone, the Red Plague is descending, and here she is.</p><p>A bustle and scrape from behind the door, shuffling and sloshing. “Coming!” The suffering sigh of a dog, “<i>Move</i>, you dear old thing - “ and he opens the door. The doctor nearly fills the doorway, much taller than she. She looks him over: tall black boots, white coat (splattered with something), one hand at his waist and one on the doorframe, friendly face, kind grey eyes, curly frizzy shock of auburn hair. He’s a bit out of breath. Just behind him is a wrinkly old hound dog, curled up on a thick blanket by the door. “Hello, who do we have here? Come in, come in.”</p><p>The clinic is indeed narrow. He takes her cloak, hangs it on a coat rack, ushers her inside, chattering away all the while. “How are you feeling, my dear? Fever, aches, pains, chills, nausea? Headaches, loss of appetite, loss of sleep? Nothing broken, I expect, or you wouldn’t be so calm.” Long, delicate, cool fingers gently running down the length of her throat, then gone. “Let’s see...no unusual rashes, lumps, no red in your eyes?” He is more serious on this last point, and she shakes her head firmly. “Good. Deep breath for me, if you would?” Behind her now, brushing her braids around to her front, the flat of a stethoscope, and she takes a breath. “No fluid in the lungs, no wheeze, no abnormal breathing. Nothing abnormal about you at all, in fact.”</p><p>Well, she wouldn’t call a magician at a doctor’s clinic <i>normal</i>.</p><p>She finally gets a chance to look around. A chair by the door she’d almost stumbled on, a long row of counter-and-cabinets along the wall, a wooden chair with little wheels on its six spider-like legs. A mug of coffee, steaming, on the counter, a splash of it spilled. (<i>That’s what’s on his coat.</i>) The counter is strewn with things: a rack of glass vials and tubes, a couple thick books hanging open and pushed aside, medical papers she can’t make heads or tails of, sketches she can’t understand either, some specimens in jars, a couple beakers, a quill leaving drops of ink behind, an inkpot. A metal examination table on the right, a litany of instruments on wall hooks around it (he hangs the stethoscope up here), a doorway at the back covered with a curtain with another chair by it (no wheels, just more books), and a sturdy flight of stairs.</p><p>Dr. Devorak finally plops down in the wheeled chair, crossing his long legs at the ankles. “You’re perfectly healthy, clearly,” he says, with a brilliant grin and a wink that makes her heart leap. “So what brings you to my humble clinic?”</p><p>Thora smiles back, holding out a hand for him to shake. “My name is Esmeralda, and I’d like to be your apprentice.”</p><p>She can tell by the gleam in his eyes that he’d be delighted to have her.</p>
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